


Intro to Human Care 101

by orphan_account



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Domestic Boyfriends, Fluff, Food mention, M/M, Short & Sweet, Slice of Life, Zim is trying his best, cut your alien bf some slack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:21:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21950620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Conversations and cuddles on a hideous eyesore of a red couch that's more comfortable than it has any right to be.
Relationships: Dib/Zim (Invader Zim)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 146





	Intro to Human Care 101

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays, folks! This is a short & sweet ficlet for the absolute delight, [wherebear](https://wherebear.tumblr.com), (seriously, they have my absolute fav Zim & Dib designs and it should be illegal to be so talented) who asked for domestic fluff. So I hope this is to your taste and that you have a fantastic holiday <3

“DIB-STINK!”

“ _JESUS-!_ ” Dib startled and ripped his headphones off as his attention was torn away from his glowing laptop to the eerily underlit end table/secret tunnel to watch as Zim emerged from the depths of his hidden base. The little Irken planted an authoritative fist on his hip, his wig slightly askew, and a steaming dented pot clutched vaguely threateningly in his other tiny gloved hand. Dib slapped a hand over his chest with a heavy thunk as he sank back into Zim’s supernaturally comfortable red couch. “Are you trying to give me a _heart-atta-?_ ” 

“It has been almost seven hours since you last poked food-stuffs down your repulsive gullet, human, don’t think I haven’t noticed.” Zim interrupted and pointed a sharp little talon accusingly in Dib’s direction. The Irken shifted his weight to jut out his boney hip as he planted his hand back on his waist and turned his (lack of) nose petulantly into the air with a self-important sniff. “But fear not, knowing how your useless species grows weak and wibbly in the throes of hanger, Zim has taken it upon himself to provide for the Dib.” 

“You… made something for me?” Dib blinked and cautiously leaned forward, if he didn’t know Zim as well as he did, he would feel dangerously close to charmed. 

“Don’t sound so surprised.” Zim scoffed derisively as he eyed the unshaven human parked on his couch in a pair of mismatched pyjamas that were too short for him, loosely wrapped in a faded throw blanket with his laptop perched on his knobby knees like he belonged there. Which, technically, he did. Still, he didn't have to slob it up with quite so much gusto. Zim huffed and quickly glanced away as he stiffly pointed the steaming pot at the Dib like it was a weapon. “You will accept Zim’s ‘muck and cheez’ boxed sustenance and you will be grateful to your Irken master.” 

Oh. It was just mac and cheese. Dib sagged back down into the usual hunch as the nervous tension eased from his shoulders. Nothing absurdly acidic, still alive, or _both,_ this time. He almost thanked the scrawny little Irken as Zim rigidly marched towards him before he caught sight of the pot's contents in the low light spilling through Zim’s living room window.

“... Zim, this isn’t mac and cheese. This is just plain mac.” Dib stated flatly as he arched an eyebrow, his warm brown eyes flicked up from the pale, unflavoured noodles to skeptically meet Zim’s gaze. Zim pinched his lips, clearly offended as a slight tint of colour flushed high on his cheeks. Dib continued, undeterred. “This is the saddest of college dinners. This isn’t food, this is rock bottom.”

“ _Insolent worm!_ You _dare_ question my superior food preparation skills?” Zim hissed defensively as Dib cautiously plucked the pot handle out of Zim’s hand to peer inside with the vain hope he’d somehow missed something. “The nuclear orange flavour pack is the secret treat in the center, as you were SUPPOSED to find out on your own, ungrateful swine.” Zim tightly crossed his arms as Dib’s gaze flicked back up to meet his. 

“Ah.” Dib’s tone was neutral as his expression shifted to a plastic smile. “Thank you, Zim, this was really sweet of you.” Dib laid his laptop on the floor and got up to walk over to the window. He slid it open with ease, the crisp December night breeze wrenching it’s cold fingers into the stagnant living room air. 

Then he casually flicked the pot into the snow piled up on the lawn outside before fluidly sliding the window shut again with a sharp snap. 

“ _HEY!_ ” Zim’s undignified squawk rang through the dark living room as Dib nonchalantly brushed his hands off on his pyjama pants. “That took like 10 minutes of Zim’s precious time- _unhand me this instant, you horrible pig-smelly!_ ” Zim thrashed wildly against Dib’s chest as Dib calmly hooked the petite Irken around his waist and hauled him up into his lap as he plunked back down in his usual spot on the couch. They both knew Zim’s tantrum was just for show- if Zim sincerely didn’t want to be held, he wouldn’t be. And Dib would definitely be bleeding for the attempt. He knew that from a long decade of hard-earned experience. Zim squirmed awkwardly in Dib’s lap with a bit more grumbled discontent until he found a comfortable enough position straddling the human’s thigh and flopped against Dib’s broad chest, arms crossed petulantly. Still, he allowed himself to be held. Dib hummed softly and tugged the ratty blanket out from under him to wrap around them both. He tried to rest his chin on top of Zim’s scratchy old wig, but the Irken abruptly pulled away.

“Oh, come on, you’re not actually mad, are you?” 

Zim clenched his jaw and levelled a peevish glare up at his human companion. 

“Your mac and cheese is too hot for my inferior human palate right now, I just put it out there to cool off a bit. I’ll eat it later.” Dib lied with a put-upon sigh. His tone was disarming as he rubbed the small of the little Invader’s back beneath his PAK as Zim eyed him warily. 

“... Really?” Zim asked hesitantly, his brow furrowed as he searched his human’s eyes. 

“Would I lie to you?” Dib quirked an eyebrow.

“ _Yes_.” Zim answered flatly as he squinted one eye skeptically. Dib huffed affectionately as he wrapped his arms around the horrible little space cockroach and leaned down to bump his forehead against Zim’s. 

“You don’t have to cook for me, you know.” Warm brown eyes cracked open to meet nervous lavender, and Zim quickly glanced away even as he uncrossed his arms to rest his small hands tentatively on Dib’s chest. The physicality of their relationship was still new, at least this softer version of their typical rough-housing, and, at times, was still a bit overwhelming for the petite Irken. To be so encompassed in Dib’s scent, his taste, his warmth and the subtle sounds of his inner machinations churning away deep beneath the human’s skin after years upon years of solitude, surrounded only by the soothing whirring of his computers and machines was too much to process sometimes. It seemed to come much more naturally to his big-headed rival, a silent challenge that Zim, despite his occasional discomfort, _refused_ to back down from. Dib nuzzled his forehead with that same ease as he continued. “I can take care of myself. That was supposed to be the agreement when I moved in, anyway.” 

“All I have learned from our arrangement is that _no,_ you actually _can’t_ take care of yourself.” Zim’s eyes narrowed, his gaze still fixed to the side as he muttered, contrary to the bitter end. His sharp little claws curled in Dib’s pyjama shirt. “You don’t eat or sleep as a human should to function optimally. And when you DO eat, it’s that horrid pre-packaged slop from the gas station.” Zim’s face twisted in disgust. “I don’t even know what’s holding you together, honestly. I’m amazed you haven’t keeled over already.” 

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, space-boy, but boxed mac and cheese really isn’t healthier than a microwave burrito.” 

“You’re going to get the _scurvy._ ” Zim hissed in utter seriousness as his little hands twitched against Dib’s chest. “If I don’t see you eat a vegetable soon, I’m going to pin you down and inject citrus juice directly into your greasy veins.” 

His lavender eyes popped wide with indignant anger when Dib dared to laugh at him.

“I’m not going to get _scurvy,_ seriously, what have you been reading?” Dib leaned back into the couch to eye his little Irken in the silver glow filtering in through the window for a beat, the way the frizzy blanket sagged over Zim’s narrow shoulders and his thin lips pressed into a tight line of disapproval. “Look, I get paid on Wednesday, we’ll go and get some proper groceries then, ok?” His large hands settled firmly on Zim’s bony little hips as a bemused grin tugged at the corner of Dib’s mouth. “We’ll pick up a whole _bag_ of oranges if it’ll make you feel better.” Realization suddenly dawned on his face, and Dib turned to watch the snow fluttering silently to the ground beyond the window as he lightly squeezed Zim’s hips. “Actually, I bet they have those little boxes of mandarins out now- they always pop up around Christmas.” His gaze snapped back to meet Zim’s, his vibrant brown eyes warm in the dim light as he lightly tugged Zim down to lean on him. “They’re really sweet, I bet you’d like them.” 

Zim delicately braced his hands against Dib’s stomach but didn’t allow himself to be pulled down into Dib’s embrace. If anything, his pinched frown grew deeper.

“It’s not funny, stink-meat.” Zim grumbled sullenly.

“Hey, what’s going on? Is everything ok?” Dib’s grin melted away as concern tinted the edge of his voice, and he slowly smoothed his rough hands up and down Zim’s sides. 

The little Irken was a mess of neurotic tics and deep-seated insecurities hidden beneath his usual veneer of arrogance and bravado, with a bad habit of fixating on whatever seemingly small slings and arrows actually managed to puncture through his carefully maintained defences to the point of obsession and, eventually, panic. Dib was intimately familiar with the downward spiral, having observed and often purposefully tried to trigger the response in the twitchy little alien in his youth, only to find himself in the position of trying to guide Zim out of his periodic meltdowns later in life. (He was also intimately familiar with the cycle because Dib himself had the same inclination to fixate and obsess over similar slights, both real and perceived.) Typically, they could manage to talk each other down. When they weren’t riling each other up, anyway. 

Zim bristled as he quickly glanced away. 

“79 years.” He finally spat. 

“What?” Dib blinked, genuinely perplexed. Zim bunched his scrawny shoulders defensively and bared his pink-tinted interlocking teeth in palpable frustration with a low hiss.

“ _79 years!_ ” Zim viciously snapped and abruptly slapped Dib’s stomach, eliciting an affronted cry from the human trapped beneath him. Honestly, Dib was more offended than hurt, but still. _Rude._

“What are you _talking_ about?” Dib’s voice rose to match the little Irken’s as he roughly grabbed Zim’s shoulders.

“That’s your _pathetic_ human life expectancy.” The tiny terror sneered, his lip curling in the silver light as his hands curled into tight, futile fists against his human’s stomach. “That’s _nothing!_ You’ve already wasted more than a _fourth_ of it with your nasty Suck-Monkies and plastic nacho cheezes!” 

“Oh,” Dib breathed, surprise softening the edge of irritation. “How long do Irkens live, then?”

“I don’t know.” Zim deflated in Dib’s hands, his contacts nervously flicked away from meeting his human’s gaze again as he fidgeted beneath the blanket. “We don’t place the same emphasis on counting years as you apes do here. No wonder you make such a big deal out of it, you’re not around for that many rotations.” Zim shrugged awkwardly. “There aren’t a lot of old Irkens around though, a proper soldier typically dies in service of the Empire long before they grow frail and useless.” 

“Come on, Zim,” Dib’s voice lowered as he gently gripped the petite Irken under his chin and turned his face back to meet Dib’s. “Maybe you’re not a ‘proper soldier,’ but that doesn’t mean you’re useless.” Zim looked almost guilty as he stubbornly furrowed his brow and pinched his lips. Dib decided that was a battle for another night and instead settled on cracking a cocksure grin. “Besides, I’ve got over 50 more years to be a pain in your ass, space-boy. An all-nighter here or there and a double-bacon slamburger or two isn’t going to plant me in the dirt anytime soon. If I could survive facing off against _you_ for all these years, I’m pretty sure I’ll live through a street vendor hot dog every now and then.” His tone softened as he lightly traced his thumb along the soft skin of Zim’s jawline. “And, you’re a genius, remember? We have plenty of time to figure something out, ok? Now, come here, snow is the wrong weather for existential angst.”

“... It is?” Zim’s voice was unsure as he hesitantly scanned Dib’s face.

“Yeah, rain is the prime shapeless dread weather. Or fog. Every human knows that. Snow is for hunkering down somewhere warm and feeling smug about how mankind has uplifted and removed itself from the ruthless natural cycle of the seasons. Preferably with someone to share a blanket with.” 

“Your sad species hasn’t uplifted themselves _that_ much, Earth-boy.” Zim drawled skeptically with an immaculate raised eyebrow. Deriding humanity in general usually helped pick up Zim’s spirits. 

“You gotta celebrate the small victories, you know?” Dib grinned as he gripped the edges of their blanket and lightly tugged Zim down against him again. This time Zim didn’t resist and melted into his human’s warmth with a soft sigh. Even if the solid weight and heat of Dib’s human body was too much sometimes, Zim still found himself in the odd position of craving his touch. Dib readjusted the blanket, so they were both mostly covered (he’d just accepted in his heart by this point that his feet were always destined to poke out of the bottom of every throw blanket in existence), wrapped his arms around Zim’s scrawny frame and gently nuzzled into Zim’s scratchy wig with a low, grateful, groan. 

“... No more street vendors, though. Those carts are filthy.” Zim tilted his head back to shoot Dib a solemn look. 

“Not even god could make me give up those chilli cheese tubbydogs, Zim.” Dib whispered back with complete and utter sincerity. He huffed and leaned forward to rest his chin on his Irken’s head. “Though I can swap out the fries for a salad if it means that much to you.” He conceded with a quick peck on the top of Zim’s head. “Speaking of food, I am getting pretty hungry, you want to order something in?” Zim nuzzled into the crook of Dib’s neck with a warm purr as he wrapped his arms loosely around his human’s broad shoulders to murmur sweetly against Dib’s warm skin. 

“No need, the Dib’s mac and cheez is outside.” 

**Author's Note:**

> **Go eat it, Dib.**
> 
> Fun Fact: Longshot by Catfish and the Bottlemen is basically the theme song for this. Check it out here on [youtube](https://youtu.be/XUd2S8a2ChQ) or [spotify](https://open.spotify.com/track/2VcS3oKcOPkubN9LVzZ96l).
> 
> As always, thank you for reading & have a lovely day (~˘▾˘)~


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